Observations of An Outsider
by SecretEngima
Summary: Throughout the game, we bear witness to Aloy's thoughts and experiences as she explores her world. But what do the characters she comes across think of her? This is a collection of snapshots of different characters as they encounter Aloy while her story unfolds and what they might think of her as they watch her journey from the outside.
1. Chapter 1: Nil

**Hello all! To those here from my other stories, welcome! I promise I'm not abandoning my previous projects in favor of this (I'm really not). To newcomers, greetings! Welcome to my newest plot bunny! This collection of one-shots was a gift requested by a friend who adores the Horizon Zero Dawn game. After he read it, he insisted I share it with the world, so here it is! These will probably be on the short side, but hopefully still interesting. I will update this as inspiration to edit strikes and not before. Also, if you prefer Ao3 to FF, I (finally) have an account there! I'm SecretEnigma over there, same as over here, so it shouldn't be hard to find (I think). So far only this one-shot collection is posted over there, but I intend to add things to that account when I have time.**

 **Copyright Disclaimer: I do not own Horizon Zero Dawn or any references made in this story. All I own are my interpretation of the characters and my accessibly stealthy play style that Aloy shares with me in this story.**

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 **Chapter One: Nil**

She was arguably the most beautiful yet baffling thing he had ever seen.

Oh, he did not mean to imply that he was besotted with her, not in the way most men lusted after a woman. But sometimes, when he watched her ghost through the grass in the hunt for her chosen prey, green eyes razor sharp and footsteps quieter than the wind on a summer's night … that's when he wondered if this was how other men felt when they saw the woman they sought to win, if the racing of his heart and the thrill under his skin was what they called "love". He doubted it. He doubted she would appreciate him mentioning such things even more. She was delightfully practical like that.

He could still remember the day he first saw her, a Nora savage jogging down a deer trail of a path, green eyes catching on the bodies of the bandits with a mix of curiosity and wariness. "There's danger ahead girl." He had called out the warning as a mere courtesy, fully expecting to be ignored or threatened.

True to form, her jaw had jutted out stubbornly, "Danger for you outlander. This is Nora land-"

He had interrupted, not particularly wanting to hear the usual hue and cry of the tribe that called themselves hunters, "Yes, yes, yes, trespass is forbidden on pain of death. Strange phrase, 'the pain of death'." He had pointed idly at the bandit lying at his feet, "See? This one's in no pain at all."

When she had asked who the man was, he had seen an opportunity to make her leave. Few had ever stayed to listen to his commentary, and none of those who had stayed still walked among the living anymore. But instead of leaving as he had expected, or trying to make him leave —which was a fruitless notion, but people could be foolish like that—, she had pricked up at the mention of a hunt. It was subtle, but something about the way her chin had tilted and her eyes had sharpened had prompted him to invite her along. He had thought that perhaps she could be an interesting companion for a hunt, to see if Nora were as good at hunting as they claimed, or even to see what it was like to pass on a few tips he had learned along the way.

In a distant way, he had missed hunting in a group —a proper one, not like that foolish tracker he'd picked up a few weeks ago, far too impatient and reckless that one—. Even if he had had to take orders from others back then, during the height of the war, the hunting had been different, the thrill more savored when shared by like-minded company. Those days were long past, but he had thought that pairing up with the Nora girl might be an interesting way to spice up how he went about ending his latest quarry.

But she had surprised him. Outstripped his expectations in every way. She told him repeatedly that she only did it to make the lands safe, but the look in her eyes when the hunt had started, the way her footsteps became silent and her patience endless, told another story. This was no warrior, who sought out honorable open combat above all else, nor was this a coward, only attacking when there was no chance of losing. She was a hunter. A **true** hunter, who lived for the thrill of stalking and killing. Thrived on the challenge of outsmarting her prey.

Then he learned that she was not just any kind of hunter, she had the **second sight**.

He could still remember the moment of realization. The span of time when confusion had turned to irritation, then to understanding and, yes, even amazement.

It had been during their first hunt together, starting right after he had pointed out the rocks of Devil's Thirst and teased her instincts with explanations of murderous bandits, their pesky —unless he was looking for a bloodbath, which admittedly wasn't rare— alarm system, and helpless Nora captives to rescue if one felt particularly heroic —her irritation at his flippant responses to her wariness had been very amusing—. She had taken off at once into the evening rain, but not, to his surprise, straight for the camp or the bridge that stretched across the river. Instead, the girl had darted off upriver, padding through the rain-stained grass like a particularly large cat. Only when the bandit camp was almost out of sight entirely did she finally slide down the steep bank and swim to the other side.

He had made a mental note of her cautious nature to keep from complaining —even to himself— about the chill of the river adding to the rain-sodden status of his clothes and weapons. He had added "very cautious" to that mental note alongside the fact that the girl had a nervous habit of stopping and pressing a hand to the jewelry on one ear —good luck charm? She wouldn't be the first— when —once again— instead of making straight for the nearest bandits to kill, she had circled the camp from afar not once, but twice —which entailed swimming the river four more times in the increasingly dark night hours— before settling on an approach to the gate nearest their original starting point that had much tall grass.

Vaguely irked by that time —patience was one thing, but nighttime swims in rivers while it was raining was **not** a wartime experience he had ever wanted to relive— his irritation had shifted to surprise when the girl unhesitatingly unslung her bow and fired into the dark night at the nearest bandit guard tower. His puzzlement —because she couldn't actually expect to **hit** someone from this far in lighting like this— was cut off by the faint thud of an arrow hitting home and the slightly louder impact of a body hitting wood. There was no cry for help, no sounds of alarm from the other patrolling bandits. He doubted anyone could have heard the sounds over the rain unless they were listening for it.

Her hand had flickered to her ear jewelry for just a moment as she stared at the tower, then she had unhesitatingly notched and let fly two more arrows into the dark again at rapid speed. There was another pair of meaty thuds to herald deadly arrowheads finding homes in fatal places and two soggy crashes of bodies onto the wet ground. Only then did she move on, with an increasingly baffled and intrigued Nil on her heels.

It wasn't until roughly halfway through their hunt —the stealthiest he had had in a long time, as well as the oddest— that he realized why she kept stopping and darting back into cover at random times. Why she spent entire minutes just staring at whatever wall was in front of them or to their sides, her gaze tracking back and forth with a focus that was purely predatory.

She could see her prey. Somehow, someway, she would **see through the walls** and observe every action the bandits took, memorize their locations and patrol routes without ever having to risk being revealed. More than that, she could use her second sight to aim through the rain and the night gloom to shoot her chosen target —in the head, always the head, a guaranteed instant and silent death in a way heart or throat shots never were—.

Nil had known men —and women— who possessed exceptional hunting instincts. Who could just **tell** when there was another presence near, or where an enemy was most likely to appear from behind cover. He had had the pleasure of fighting them and hunting alongside them both, he even prided himself on being one of those people. But this… he had never seen a level of second sight, an awareness, like hers. An awareness so high she could track a target with her gaze even through walls and up to halfway across a bandit camp —though he'd only figured out her range on later occasions, after much observation and carefully masked questions—.

Of course, for all her supernatural skill in the Sight —which it was supernatural, a part of Nil believed, especially after being called to fight an army of demon machines at her side—, she had still been inexperienced in hunting **people** at the time —people were so much more interesting than machines, much more oblivious, but once they **realized** something was wrong, they didn't just forget after a period of silence like machines— and so had eventually made a mistake and alerted the rest of the camp to their presence. But by that point, so many bandits had died by either her bow, or his knife, or **her** knife —lured to it by that eerie not-quite-machine-not-quite-bird noise she made, as irresistible to the curious as the call of sirens to sailors—, that the blur of open combat had been merely short and invigorating rather than long and crowded and dangerous.

He had left the moment the camp was cleared of course —no time or interest in the shaky thanks and bewildered gratitude of people who thought he did this out of the goodness of his heart—, but had been immensely pleased when the girl —Aloy, she'd finally introduced herself as— had tracked him down to where he was waiting and actually spoken with him again.

He had seen the bloodlust hiding in her eyes as she'd approached, dancing and sparking like adrenaline —but so much better, so much more dangerous, so much harder to control— and had been unable to stop the pleased smile as he taught her the first lesson of being an honorable hunter of men, "Feels good, doesn't it? Hold it inside you one last breath, then let it out."

She hadn't acknowledged the wisdom in his words then —or ever, she had such a stubborn mindset about pretending she didn't enjoy the hunt as much as he did—, but he had seen the glow fade from green eyes until the hunter with exceptional second sight was gone and there was only an irritated Nora teenager left behind. She had acted like this was a one time occurrence, he had told her that they would see each other again, and until they did, know each other by their handiwork.

He was the one who was right, of course. And he quickly learned to spot —and yes, to marvel— at the distinctive collection of bandits dead in place, some clearly in the middle of a random activity. Lives ended by a quick flash of the knife or spear or by arrows buried deep in their skulls, —she only ever killed with an arrow if it was a headshot, the girl's level of precision in that aspect was almost obsessive—.

They met up a few more times after that, and Nil learned to appreciate falling into her pace of things, her way of stalking a camp continuously for hours —even, in one notable instance, two whole days without rest— until each and every bandit had been ended as silently as a ghost. His methods usually began stealthy and ended noisy and bloody and thrilling, but there was a certain **challenge** to remaining unseen and unknown throughout the entirety of the hunt that grew to appeal to him, at least when he could use her unnaturally powerful second sight to his advantage.

She had an odd habit of listening to him, trying to understand him —even though he intentionally irritated and teased her—, which others had given up years ago or didn't bother attempting in the first place. She acted brisk, but he could always tell when she took his advice to heart —advice he offered freely, because it would be such a shame to lose someone that talented to either death or madness—. Eventually, she even gave up trying to convince him that she didn't enjoy it, just rolled her eyes and urged him to hurry up and begin. It was like being in his old squad again, familiar and welcome in short bursts. He became quite fond of her really.

Though, he supposed challenging her to a duel to the death after running out of bandit camps had been a bit presumptuous. He should have at least offered to buy her a drink or three first, or to have a night together. Though he doubted she'd accept the latter offer really, not when she didn't even understand what flirting was —she was such a young, naive thing for a deadly huntress—. Still, he should have at least offered out of courtesy before trying to convince her to battle him.

But she had turned him down and the wound she'd left with her words had cut him deep until messengers had approached him while he was contemplating — **not** moping, thank-you-very-much— on a high mesa with word of a great battle to decide the fate of all life as men knew it and the red-headed huntress who would be leading the charge.

He couldn't **not** come when she called. He had grown almost unnaturally fond of her by then, and her apology gift —a battle from which there was almost no surviving, a one-day war in which he could cast aside his usual restraint and just **live** in the moments of blood and fear and adrenaline— had been magnificent beyond words.

Afterward, she had convinced him to hunt down the remaining Eclipse, bandits in all but name, and he had conceded on the condition she hunted with him.

Because as long as she was around to attract trouble —which she did, life-ending apocalypses didn't happen to just anyone— life wasn't nearly as boring or gray as it used to be.


	2. Chapter 2: Sylens

**Sylens. Sylens why are you so hard to write. Talk to me Sylens. I thought genius masterminds loved to monologue. Even Aratak the grouchy, stoic Chieftain of an entire culture of Grouchy Stoic People talks more than you do. Argh.**

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 **.**

 **Chapter Two: Sylens**

When he was first pinged by the Eclipse's Focus network with a "kill immediately" notice from Hades about, of all things, a teenage Nora savage, Sylens had been … confused. She was nothing special _—beyond the rarity of the red-haired gene—_ , she wasn't even **notable**. Just another random, nosy, primitive girl who no doubt thought she was superior because of her clan blood. So why did Hades want her dead so badly? Why had Hades sounded so urgent in his orders and —dare he think it— **frightened** by the mere sight of the girl?

So, out of curiosity, Sylens took a closer look.

And realized that Elisebet Sobeck was looking back at him.

Or at least, a descendant so uncannily similar that Hades saw her as an automatic threat.

It was the resemblance, even more than Hades interest, that caused him to pay continued attention to the Nora girl. To observe her words and deeds through her Focus. Learn how she thought and acted, how she had already visited the ruins of the Old World before and was not bound by the superstitions that plagued the other Nora.

He watched in growing incredulity and fascination as she plowed through every obstacle, learned and adapted more than any Nora —or Carja or Banuk— he had ever observed. His incredulity turned to awe when she not only successfully invaded a Cauldron, but overrode it's heart with the device she had scavenged from the Corrupter and used its knowledge to understand how to override even more machines than she could before.

That was when he realized that the girl was different. That she was worth keeping alive.

So he helped her. Kept her hidden, disrupted the Focus's of the Eclipse so that she could survive her first incursion into the quarry against two Corrupters. He had put up with her questions —to a degree— and worked out an alliance of mutual interest with the girl. An alliance so that she could find the answers to her parentage while he could finally uncover the knowledge kept from him for so long behind unbending walls of titanium alloy.

He never intended to become fond of her in the process.

But he did. Not that he would ever admit it aloud, especially to her. But a man of learning could never properly expand his horizons if he was not **honest** with himself in everything, so yes, he knew that he had become fond of her.

He was still working on the **when** and **how** though.

Perhaps it was a side-effect of constant exposure. He had born witness to all of her greatest triumphs and failures since her first clash with the organization that he had created after all. It was only natural that he became accustomed to her behaviors and appreciative of her stubborn usefulness. But to leave it at that would be lying to himself, and since he refused to risk blinding himself in that way just to preserve his pride, he had thought on it further, and concluded that while it was in part because of steady exposure to Aloy, that was not all there was to it.

To be perfectly blunt, Aloy was extremely charismatic. Allies, strangers, and enemies alike were drawn to her, and a part of him wondered if that was Sobeck's blood coming to the fore, the intelligence and fire shown by both could not be a coincidence. The people she met almost invariably ended up **wanting** to please her, to follow her, to know her, and she very rarely turned them away even if she didn't like them —her tolerance of both the friendly psychopath Nil and Sylens himself were notable examples—.

While she was stubborn beyond belief, she was also cunning and extremely intelligent —a combination far rarer than others might have thought—. Every obstacle placed in front of her, physical or intellectual, was attacked and harassed from all angles until it was overcome. Every mystery investigated not just to satisfaction, but to **understanding**.

When he baffled her with his scientific knowledge and long-lost words, she pestered him or hunted through her surroundings until she figured out what he meant. When something caught her off guard, she recovered, moved on, and **remembered**. Adapted to it until it was ineffective. She could discover random knowledge from any source —an enemy, an old Focus, the many ruins that dotted the landscape—, then turn around and put that knowledge to use in a completely different setting, sometimes months after he had already written the fact down and dismissed it from his mind.

He hadn't realized just how fond of her he'd become until she was trapped in the Sun-Ring. Until she was forced to fight her way through machines —through a situation most would have already given up as hopeless— with the same bullheaded tenacity and near-vindictive cunning with which she'd faced everything else. He told her later that he only rescued her because she was useful to him —and that had played a big part of it—, but, in the privacy of his mind, he could still remember the way his heart had lurched into his throat during her capture. How his blood had raced through his veins as if he was the one in mortal peril and not her.

She was annoying, obstinate, sarcastic, easily distracted by the plight of random _—useless—_ people, and by far one of the most aggravating beings he had ever been forced to hold a conversation with. But she was also the one who had given him the last pieces of a puzzle he'd been attempting to uncover for the better part of his life, and the loyalty she gave to anyone who met her baffling standards was the kind that commanded loyalty in return. Even from him.

They started their venture as an uneducated girl and a man who knew more of the world's secrets than anyone else. They parted ways as equals and … illogical as it was to even think it…

Friends.

Or at least, the closest thing to friends that Sylens ever allowed himself these days.

Their ways had parted for the moment, and perhaps the next time they met they would find themselves enemies rather than allies —one could never tell where his quest for knowledge would lead him—. But until that time arrived, Sylens would continue his work alone … and, just occasionally, check up on Elisebet Sobeck's daughter through her Focus when she wasn't looking. Just to make sure she was in good health.


	3. Chapter 3: Helis

**So... this took forever. Honestly, I've had this chapter done for ages, but I really, REALLY wanted to cover Aratak and a few others before posting it. But Aratak is taking forever and I've been busy and I figured- you know what? Whatever. I'll just post the chapter I already have and hope everybody likes. Therefore, here is your update. On a side note: Helis is a weird POV to write from. He is- like- the most superstitious character I have ever written, even the bits of the Aratak chapter don't match this nutjob.**

 **Review Response: Dear Dragon Lord Draco, hello! Well, first off, thank you for trying it even when you don't know it! Secondly, if you can possibly play it, GO PLAY IT. It's gorgeous and beautiful and there's only one other game world I love to just explore and hang out in more than this HZD. Plus, the DLC is included in the special edition disk now, so you can enjoy the DLC with the main story too. You know, if you have something that will run it.**

 **Dear .90, hi! Well thanks! Nil is a favorite character, so I paid a lot of attention to his mannerisms and speech patterns. Hope you enjoy this chapter too!**

 **Dear Sunnymuffins, hello! I do intend to cover more people such as Erend, Aratak (who is the reason I'm stuck currently), Talanah, etc. I'm just ... slow. Hope you enjoy the update!**

 **Copyright Disclaimer: I do not own Horizon Zero Dawn or any references made in this story. The only things I own are my interpretations of the characters thoughts.**

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 **Chapter Three: Helis**

.

For his entire life, he had known with an utmost, unshakable, prophetic certainty that he was to be the greatest Champion of the Sun that had ever lived. Every breath he took, every earliest memory, every tortuous training session as a child was awash with that certainty, that guiding light. Even as a youth, he had looked upon the path of the Sun, burning from glorious gold to deep blood red and known that while the Sun gave life, the Sun also brought death. It **burned** and in that burning —that death— it **cleansed**. Helis had looked upon the Sun and known that while he could not give life like the Sun, he could bring death to it's enemies.

It was his life's purpose, his reason for existence. To cleanse all that was impure, find all that was tainted, and destroy it.

He became the first Kestrel of Sun King Jiran. When Jiran died, overthrown by his whelp Avad, Helis took Prince Itamen and his mother and carried them into shadow, unafraid of the darkness, of the despair that plagued the others. He knew his purpose, he knew his calling, even being trapped in shadow was a mere temporary trial. One he was determined to overcome. Then he had been found. Chosen by the Sun in Shadow, the one called Hades, for his great purpose, and the trials of darkness became triumphs of strength.

The assault on the Nora savages, all for one mere girl had been … unexpected. Beneath him really, or so he thought at the time. Yet as he held the girl in his grasp, he had looked upon her red hair amid the swirling snow —like the sunrise after a storm, like the rusty reds of Meridian's desert mesas, like blood that cleansed as it spilled—, he had given her the courtesy of facing the Sun one last time before she ended. Then the older Nora savage had come, intervening long enough for the girl to be thrown from the mountain by the blast of explosives rather than Helis's knife. He hadn't cared, the task was complete, like all other tasks the Sun had ever given him.

Except it wasn't.

Except the girl came back.

Devil's Thirst was first, the force there wiped out by Nora savages, led and given entrance by what appeared on first inspection of the recordings of the Focus's owned by the fallen to be a ghost. Only the second, then third careful inspections revealed the flashes of red through green grass and brown dirt, creeping and killing until it came close enough to unleash a flaming arrow into the blast barrels and open a path for the other savages. Helis could still remember the chill that had flickered, brief but disturbing, up his spine at the sight of it. The color of blood. Of rust. Of sunrise. The color he had only seen on one person before.

Other bases fell after that. One after another that fell silent without explanation, only for their fates to be revealed in the recordings recovered later through the Network. Dead. His men, his warriors, meant to bring about the cleansing of Meridian and the destiny ordained by the Sun, all dead from flashes of red hair, arrows unleashed in the shadows, or a blatant whirlwind of blooded sunrise and glittering spearpoint.

Helis watched the recordings of death after death, base after base and, for the first time in his life, doubted.

 **Hated**.

He had thought he knew what hatred was before, thought he had felt it in his heart when confronted by weakness, rot, shadow. But this was different. This burned down to his soul, chewed on his previously unshakeable confidence, and plagued his thoughts in the early hours before dawn. When he slept, he dreamed, and when he dreamed, he inevitably awoke breathing hard from the sheer force of his anger — **not** fear, never fear, he was without such weakness— when every dream ended the same.

The savage girl from the mountain, standing at the foot of the Spire —the symbol of the Sun's blessing upon Meridian, the heart of the Sundom itself—, her eyes ablaze with life and defiance, her hair glowing in the light of the Sun, as if she too was made of that deadly, all-consuming fire.

Her very existence burned him, a constant heat in the back of his mind as he hunted and killed and commanded on behalf of the Sun in Shadow, trying to make up for his failure —his doubt, the nameless emotion that tagged on the heels of that doubt—. He sent his best out in search of her, and raged when all he got in return were recordings of the dead as she ended them. Each time, his doubt grew deeper. Each time, he tasted hatred on his tongue and felt fire scourge his pride. Each time, the dream of the girl standing triumphant at the Spire, made of the fire that Helis had served and given his life and soul for, grew more vivid.

Finally, when the burning of his soul became too much, he ordered his forces in the east to mobilize and wipe out **all** the Nora. Surely she would fall with the rest of her savage kind against the full might of the Sun in Shadow's army. But she wasn't even there. She was assaulting the Eclipse's Focus Network, damaging it to the point that he could not have called off the assault even if he wished —which he did not—. Then, insult of insults, she escaped that death too. Made it into the very **heart** of the fortress that protected what remained of the true Carja —those that hadn't been caught by the rot of Avad, those not consumed by greed and **weakness** —.

When he captured her, deep in the bowels of that … place, the structure of the Old Ones, he had known that, if he was ever to feel at peace with himself again, assured of his purpose and place in life, she had to suffer more than just death. She had to be sacrificed. Her end had to be witnessed by all those who followed the Sun in Shadow, so that there would be no doubt that her life was over, that his failure to kill her the first time was rectified once and for all.

But his hate —loathing, twisted fascination— led him to speak with her first. He told her of his thoughts, his doubts, his resolve, his destiny. He let her curse and snarl at him from inside her cage as he smiled and crushed her Focus, crushed her hopes by telling her of the slaughter of her people. He watched her and gloated over the coming sacrifice of the savage girl with Sun- **rust-colored** hair.

He didn't speak of his dreams. He kept his face still and confident when her eyes snapped with defiant light and the Sun's rays caught her mane and made it gleam like polished copper —like fire—. Internally, he longed to take his spear and see her guts steaming on the ground by his own hand. But no, the Sun had set this trial in flesh before him, and it was to the Sun that she would be sacrificed in the end.

That would teach her, at least until the life faded from her eyes, to call **him** a pawn.

He watched from high above as the girl was dropped into the Sun-Ring, as the Behemoth raged and howled with the furious strength only the Sun-blessed shadows could give it. He watched and waited to see her death beneath the burning gaze of the Sun.

Instead, he saw as she survived. Quick as lightning, darting and agile as a Watcher. Here, there, always just ahead of the flashing metal hooves. She slithered and tricked, using the great strength of the Behemoth to her advantage, bringing the cage platform crashing down. His confusion as she had disappeared into the dust cloud had only lasted a moment before he realized that her weapons and armor **were still on the platform**.

She emerged from the dust, teeth bared, eyes afire, bow in hand, and there Helis saw her deadly prowess for himself rather than just through the recordings of those she had ended. He watched, with a rising swell of … something in his chest as she fought the Behemoth and the crowd cried out in horror when it fell to this … this savage demon-child that defied the Sun's will at every turn —and yet burned with the Sun's fervor and passion and destruction- stop, that was impossible—.

She turned to face his dais, an inferno in her eyes that he could see even from afar, and hate wrapped its claws around his throat as he snarled for the Shadows to kill her —end her, stop her, make it stop—. The Shadows had approached, too slow, too slow —as if frightened, cautious— and he roared with all of the fury and hate and plaguing doubts in his soul for them to **kill her**.

Her voice from below was a whip that scourged him, biting and condescending and fearless even in the face of the two Shadows and her nearly empty quiver, "Why leave it to **them**? **Come get me YOURSELF**!" And oh, oh how he wanted to. But the swelling feeling inside him he could not —dare not— name kept him in place on the dais, watching as the Shadows reached out to end her-.

Then the Sun-Ring shook and machines that glowed blue much like the Shadow-strengthened machines glowed red charged into the fray, Sylens at their head —but why? **Why** would the first man chosen by the Sun in Shadow do this? Betray the cause, betray the **Sun-how-dare-he-how-dare-he**?— and how **dare** the crowd cheer as the Sawtooths tore apart the Shadows and the girl with blood-fire hair got away? As Helis **failed** again?

That night, when he finally managed to find sleep, he dreamed again of sunrise-colored hair and eyes of fire, but also of steel against his throat and a woman's voice that bit like a blade telling him to turn his face to the Sun. He would try, only to find that he couldn't, because in his dream, he already **was** , and the Sun's eyes were not the gold depicted by the tapestries of the priests, but blazing hazel that would turn him to ash with their anger.

That night, when he startled awake, gasping and drenched in sweat, it was not rage that made him so.

It was fear.

When it came time to reclaim Meridian, Helis dawned his best war armor, sharpened his most favored spear, promised himself that the Sun would not go to his rest again without seeing the blood of the cursed savage girl spilled all over Meridian's stones. A holy sacrifice to reclaim Meridian from shadow and purify his heart of the weakness he could feel growing within it, the weakness that came out in the dead of night when he could not control the turns of his own mind.

Blood spilled as war reached Meridian again. Helis carved a path to the palace, only one goal truly burning in his mind. He knew he was to kill Avad, he knew that this was the day his destiny was fulfilled. He knew that in order to reach his destiny, he would have to get through that girl **first**. Sure enough, halfway through the palace, there she was, decked in a strange, glowing armor, her presence announced by the arrows she buried in two of his warrior's skulls as he snarled at her, "You have vexed me long enough."

Hazel clashed with gray, and both burned, "You should have fought me in the Sun-Ring then."

The reminder of her escape —his weakness, his hesitation, his **cowardice** — drew a roar of bloodlust from his throat as he lunged for her.

It was like fighting a wasp, an enemy that was everywhere and nowhere, leaving behind traps that felled his other warriors, letting loose arrows that drew blood from his skin despite his best dodges. Her armor was unnatural, able to take blows that would have killed another —armor or no—, that chimed and screamed with the voice of a machine as it took the killing blows for her whenever he caught up. Shielded her long enough for her to dart free of his grasp and the chase to begin anew as the Palace shook and crumbled around them.

He spoke to her as he pursued her up and down the steps, snarled deep in his throat for her to give up, for her to accept her weakness, for her to just die already —because **she** was the prey here, not him, not like in his dreams, never like in his dreams— and her end was sealed, a final trial on the path to the destiny he had striven toward his entire life.

Then arrow shafts bloomed in his body where his armor did not cover —had never needed to cover, he was unconquerable, protected and blessed and **strong** — and the shaking of the stones brought him to his knees with a wet gasp.

The feeling that had gripped him like demon claws in the Sun-Ring came back with a vengeance as the savage girl turned on him, predator now —predator always, ever since she survived that day on the snowy mountain—, "Impossible. I am Chosen … this was not meant to be!"

She hesitated then, her eyes burning —always burning, always afire, how did a savage of the east hold so much of the Sun's fearlessness and rage— as she took in his very measure, her glowing spear temporarily halted in its quest for his throat. Her voice, when she spoke, was oddly quiet, tight with some emotion he could not name, "None of this was meant to be, Helis. You made it happen." A shuddering breath, from which one of them, he could not tell, "Followed your orders, butchered **so many** , and for what? To die on your knees, used like a pawn by a power you don't even **understand**."

 _That cannot be true._ The thought was gone almost as soon as it had come, but in its wake left Helis shaking more than his seizing lungs or shuddering ground ever could, "You … **pity me**?" His voice was deep, with hate or fear he did not know anymore —maybe he had always been afraid, maybe he just hadn't known it, and when had he become so weak that he would fear this unnatural child of the east?—.

Her eyes flashed, and her voice was like the bite of a blade in his flesh despite its low tone, "Turn your face to the Sun."

Helis stared into those eyes that had haunted his dreams for so long, and realized with a searing burn of confused, angry despair as he finally turned his head to face the Sun, that he was not the Sun's Champion, the Sun's chosen child.

That role had been taken from him, somewhere along the years. Taken and given to the child born with hair the color of a blooded Sunrise, raised in the wild arms of the Sun's dawn paths.

Her spear drove home in his heart, Helis felt his body fall to the ground, and the last sight his eyes beheld was the girl —strange, he did not even know her name— who was born with a soul made of the Sun's fire, running through the shaking rubble to fight the Great Shadow Helis had brought right to the doorstep of his own home.


	4. Chapter 4: Adas

**Yo! This story still lives! I just haven't had much inspiration to work on it lately, but I was replaying the game and stumbled across this tiny, one-off side quest in Sunfall where you help a brother get medical treatment for his sister (and fight a Thunderjaw in a narrow canyon because Why Not™) and I suddenly wondered ... what would the NPC have thought of that? Of this ... random Outlander sweeping in and helping for legit no discernible reason? Kindness is unheard of in Sunfall, especially for the slaves/refugees like Adas and his sis, so ... why? Aloy is doing it out of kindness, and we the player are probably just doing it for the EXP, but I had the sudden urge to try to see what was going on in this kid's head during that quest. Thus, this update.**

 **Anyway, I'm still working (and stuck) on Aratak's chapter, but this was a refreshing break.**

 **Copyright Disclaimer: I do not own Horizon Zero Dawn or any references made in this story. The only things I own are my headcanons on the plot and the characters.**

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 **Chapter 4: Adas**

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She swept in at sunset. Adas didn't notice her at first, he was too busy sacrificing what little water he could spare for his sister's feverish forehead and trying to squash the little voice in his head that whispered Shianah was already as good as passed. He only noticed the stranger when a shadow fell over him and an unfamiliar voice murmured, "She's very pale. Is she unwell?"

Adas looked up, an explanation already falling from his lips even before he realized was speaking to an Outlander. A strange Outlander at that, he'd never seen hair as red as the stones in the Sunring after a fresh sacrifice. But despite her Nora garb and her strange hair, her eyes were … kind, and Adas found himself telling the stranger about the plight of his little sister.

The stranger's head tilted, "Is there no one in Sunfall who can help?"

Ah. This Outlander was **very** new to Sunfall then. Probably a bounty hunter, here in search of work from the Priests. Though he'd never seen a bounty hunter that cared for the tent folk before, "We're refugees … we know our place. And there's only one healer in the territory. He's…" All the insults and curses the other refugees had ever said flitted through his mind, but that was no way to speak around an Outlander, or about the only healer in Sunfall's reach, so he settled on the mildest, "difficult." But that didn't even begin to cover it, let alone elaborate on **what** made him so difficult, so Adas added a little shyly, "His soul is in shadow."

The Outlander's forehead wrinkled for a moment, "His … soul is in shadow?" She seemed to be testing the words, weighing them on her tongue for a meaning she did not know. But of course she wouldn't, she was an Outlander, a Nora, how could she know of the bitter weight hidden behind Adas's words? Or the implications to a heart falling out of the Sun's light and into shadow's cruelty?

"Ghaliv," Adas explained with a sigh, "that's him. He's very clever, but he has … little care for people," _beyond their money, anyway,_ "perhaps the desert scoured it away. Or perhaps he was always like that. Either way, I know he won't help us." And there was sour grief and bitterness on his tongue with those words. Venom watered down to despair by his fatigue.

The Outlander's gaze dropped down to Shianah, sleeping fitfully in the shade of the tent, and Adas wondered why the Outlander was bothering to still speak with him. Her weapons were far too high a quality, and her skin far too clean to have anything in common with a refugee and a slave like Adas. Yet still she lingered. She muttered something under her breath, something that sounded like, "Well I'll see about that." But before he could question if his ears were failing him, she asked, "Where would I find him?"

Adas almost told her not to bother. Ghaliv didn't treat Outlanders anymore than he treated refugees. But there was … something in his chest that kept him from saying so. Maybe there was still some tiny kernel of hope left in him, some shred of his mother's tales of hope and miracles that wanted to believe that his prayers for Shianah might be answered in this Outlander. So he told her about the border battle at Blazon Arch, the soldiers there would be under Ghaliv's care if the man hadn't left already for his next task.

The Outlander's eyes glinted in the setting sun, turning hazel eyes to tiny shards of fire as she spun on her heel and walked away without a word. Adas settled next to his sister, resolved to spend another night whispering soothing nothings to his sibling and then working hard under the taskmaster's whip without sleep the next day.

By evening of the next day, he'd forgotten all about the Outlander with the fire hair and her questions.

He remembered, sharp and disbelieving, two days after that when he saw hair as red as blood weaving through the tents toward him. The Outlander swept into view with a predatory stride as fluid as a Kestrel's and as smug as a thief's despite her disheveled appearance —by the Sun, she looked like she'd gone to war with a Sawtooth or three—. More importantly —impossibly—, **Ghaliv** was following on her heels, a bag tucked under one arm.

Adas stood up, half caught between tears of gratitude and the belief that he was dreaming somehow, "It's you." _How-why-am-I-dreaming-_ "Hello there." He added past the spinning in his mind.

The Outlander jerked her head toward Ghaliv, no hint of mockery or trickery in her voice as she murmured, "I brought someone to see your sister."

 _It's … true?_ This Outlander —Sun, he didn't even know her **name** — had somehow convinced Ghaliv to treat his sister? The only family he had left in the world? His gaze bounced between them as he gasped, "How did you-. What did we do to deserve-?"

Her head tilted and her hair glinted like fire on the rusty stones of the citadel and Adas's words died in his mouth as his mother's words came back to him. The stories she had whispered in the hard times, of the Sun sending Messengers in mortal form to grant wishes to his devout children. Of miracles granted by people who were almost, but not **quite** human —eyes that burned molten gold, or **hair like fire** and oh if this was a dream let him never wake up—. But in the stories, if anyone questioned the miracle, that was a sign of disrespect to the Sun and the Messengers would flee, taking their miracle with them and so Adas heard himself babbling desperately that he would not ask, lest a shadow passed over and stole it away —he would drop to his face in thanks, but that would prove he knew she was a Messenger and then she would flee and take Shianah's chance with her—.

"Smart boy," cut in Ghaliv with a look that said he knew exactly what Adas was thinking —did Ghaliv believe it too? Was that why he had come?—.

The Messenger in Outlander skin leveled a steady, burning look on Ghaliv, "She'll have his full attention. **Won't she**?" The last part was a bite, a warning and a threat all in one and Adas wasn't sure how Ghaliv did not fall to his face in fear at a Messenger using such a tone toward him —Messengers were blessed by the Sun, Messengers carried power in them no human could withstand, even when the Messenger was cloaked in mortal skin and bone—.

Ghaliv just looked even more amused, "Once I'm freed of other **distractions** , yes."

The Messenger spared one last glance to Adas and Shianah —to the miracle she was giving them for reasons Adas could not begin to fathom because surely there were others more worthy? More devout?—, then turned and strode away without a word.

Adas spent the next hour in a daze, answering Ghaliv's questions on instinct and struggling with tears as the healer gave his sister the medicine she so desperately needed. It wasn't until Ghaliv had finished his task and given —given!— Adas more medicine and the instructions on how to use it that the healer finally commented, "Do make sure your sister doesn't hurt herself once she's recovered, I dare say she's more valuable than this entire camp put together."

That- wasn't something Adas expected to hear, even considering how his day had gone, "V-valuable?"

Ghaliv smirked as he stood up, almost … mischievous as he told Adas with utter sincerity, "Hm-hm, your little sister is worth I would say…" the man opened one of the pouches on his waist, revealing the contents within to Adas's disbelieving gaze, "a Thunderjaw heart."


End file.
